No Gods, No Heros (My Hero Academia AU)
by Scheherazad
Summary: The world's greatest hero, All Might, has fallen, and the fragile peace he's long fought to uphold is shattered. (Fem!Izuku/Fem!Todoroki)
1. Only Man 1-1

A death of superman storyline in a My Hero Academia Alternate Universe. This wouldn't leave my mind all day, I just had to write it - it'll be clunky in places, weak in other parts and undoubtedly riddled with mistakes so leave a comment if you notice anywhere that need fixing or if you just like it.

* * *

**I Island Lecture Hall 34R,**

**Material Engineering course, Exotic Technology**

I tapped the link, and my tablet screen blinked as it transitioned from the homepage to Hero Vision. The app logo flashed, a white circle within a silver box against an all-white background, before turning black once more.

It starts with the buffering animation, a small hero-avatar flying tight circles around the play icon wearing a little cape that left a rainbow trail. It made an incomplete cycle before fading away to the start.

The video opens with a shot from above, aboard a news helicopter, with the shaky camera-work of someone scared out of their wits but too curious for their own good… or paid too much to complain.

"**Coming to you live, in Hosu city this is Hero News Network's Junko Takeda with Breaking News. We have this just in**…" the reporter lady starts her piece, talking in that rapid fire most news anchor speaks in.

"- **a previously unknown villain has just been apprehended following the UA Kidnapping. Police sources speculate the man to be the mastermind behind the Villain Alliance and the massa… wait**," a hand falls to her earpiece, ten seconds of silence follows before suddenly shouting, "-**there has been a development… Orlando, zoom in and crank up the audio… I wanna hear everything,**" all the while, slapping the camera away from her, pointing it to the scene down below.

"-going to fight, then I will too," a man says, and through the smoke and dust on-screen, the camera shakily zooms in to focus on him.

The speaker was a mountain of a man, I could tell even on video, standing at somewhere just over eight feet tall… that is four heads above the average household door height or a head short of a lamp-post. He wore and dirtied yet somehow immaculate black suit with a velvet lapel that clung tightly to his heavily muscled form, a blood-red tie paired with a stark-white dress-shirt and black pants.

The sleeves of his suit were torn, and his shoes looked to have been melted of by friction burns.

Covering most his face was a strange and ominous broken black mask, with respiratory pipes at the bottom and a neck-brace to hold it in place. The glass visor was broken, the entire top half missing completely, revealing the face of the man underneath… rather lack thereof.

The man had no facial features what-so-ever to speak of. No eyes where eyes should have been, nor hair, nor nose – just one, ugly burn-scar where most of his feature should have been and an ever-benevolent smile on his lips, the only discernible facial feature he had.

"In the past, that fist of yours crushed one after another of my comrades, and you were extolled as the Symbol of Peace," said the faceless man as he raised a hand to the sky, then brought it down in a gesturing motion.

For dramatic effect I imagined.

Looking past him for the time, I noticed just how everything behind him was either on fire, catching fire, decimated or was falling apart. It looked like the End of the World.

'Who is he?' I wondered to myself, and more importantly, 'Who is he talking to?'

I made a habit of knowing heroes and villains, chronicling whatever information I could get in my notebooks. Recognizing heroes and villains from something as insignificant as a silhouette was a point of pride for me, so it stung me something fierce that I didn't recognize this clearly powerful villain.

"The view must have been magnificent, you Hero you," the villain said, mockingly.

'He's talking to a hero then?' I thought, 'Which one?'

"What did it feel like, boy?" he shouted, taunting, "As you stood atop the fruits of MY sacrifices. Answer me All Might!"

The camera swerved to the right so fast it was almost jarring. So fast as a matter of fact, it took the camera precious seconds to adjust. As it was, it could only make out the blurry, horned outline of a man shrouded in a cloud of dust, smoke and fire.

The silhouette was a familiar sight. The two horns sticking up in a 'V' shape, and th herculean physique were unmistakable.

That was All Might.

The dust cleared and clarity returned. The camera zoomed in on the muscled silhouette to reveal a heavily wounded All Might wearing scraps and tatters of his costume, steaming coming out of his body and…

'… is he losing muscle mass?' I noticed. It was a detail so minor I almost dismissed it, thinking that I must have imagined it, but I trusted my eyes. All Might's costume, like most Power-Type hero costumes, which was designed to be skin tight with very little give to accentuate musculature was loosening.

"I have nothing to say to you All For One," All Might said. Behind him were various B-rank and C-rank pro-heroes evacuating the civilians.

I recognized some of them.

I caught a glimpse of Raptor-Rex, the lizard hero holding up the collapsed support pillar of an office building while Onihime, the Yokai hero, subdued the rampant fires with her quirk, moving the flames out of the way to allow passage for rescue-workers to slip in.

Endeavour was on the sidelines, face set in grim expression as he watched helplessly from the sidelines. He looked like he wanted to jump in, but held himself back admirably… Late night media will have a circus about his non-involvement later as they often do, but I thought it was a wise decision, there was very little he could have done to help in this fight, even with his hottest flames.

Kamui Woods raised platforms of wood to ferry civilians away from the area, and Barrier Terrier was casting shield of pale yellow that sheltered the heroes from flying debris.

"It all ends tonight…," All Might declared intently, as he clenched his fists so tightly they made an audible 'crack' noise.

I winced at the sound and continue watching, enraptured.

In one breath, the fight started in earnest. I blinked once, I think, and the next thing I saw was the desolate scene of a devastated street, and a blurry streak in place of the hero. One moment All Might had been there in the frame, standing defiantly before the faceless man and in the next he was only a blur of blue and red streaking on a course for the villain.

"[SMASH]" he shouted his signature war cry, and launched a devastating punch at the faceless man, who for his part caught it with ease. A deafening noise resounded from the clash as fist met open palm, followed by a sonic-boom that shattered all windows in sight and knocked back anything still standing with eyeshot of the two.

The force was great enough to push back the camera-man who must have toppled over and the lenses was promptly pelted by debris and blanketed by dust – thankfully it was a professional setup, the protective cover in front of the lens dislodged, showing unmarred footage without a spiderweb crack running down the screen.

The cameraman stood up, quivering all the while and pointed the camera back to the fight.

"**[NEW-ENGLAND SMASH]**" - not to be deterred by the ease with which he'd been countered, All Might shouted once more as he retaliated with a deadly barrage of punches, alternating between straight-lefts, rights and hooks. Each hit imbued with enough force to form a cone of wind-pressure that shorn chunks of flesh from the faceless man, and fast enough that his hands were literal blurs travelling too fast for a phone camera to pick up.

The barrage of punches sounded almost akin to a minigun, as each one broke the sound barrier.

"**[SHOCK-ABSORPTION + ADAMANT SKIN + DAMAGE RESERVOIR + AUTO-PARRY + COUNTER]**"

The Villain calmly canted, all the while standing his ground in the face of it all, somehow parrying each one of All-Might's blows – pushing away every punch he can aside, attempting to counter sometime but mostly just receiving.

For each gouge of flesh All Might tore from his body, a black-gel like substance seeped from the wound to replace the flesh.

For each blow he received, the impact was lessened by a strange rippling effect that seemingly dispersed all the force to the rest of the man's body and into the earth beneath him, shattering and forming a crater where he stood.

… and for each blow he couldn't shrug off or slap away, a counter was attempted. The faceless man gave as good as he got, turning the fight into a slugfest.

**[REFLECT]** the faceless man shouted and rained deathly blows on All Might with equal fervor to match the hero in terms of speed, power and technique.

My breath stilled, and my heart skipped a beat. It was like watching a clash of gods – one, a paragon of virtue and the other, a symbol of evil.

The two exchanged blows. Punching away at each other with fists that shattered the earth beneath them, until finally All Might felled the faceless man with a sweeping kick that send both men tumbling to the ground.

All Might roared and the Faceless man choked back a strangled gasp as they both fell, and the hero went for the coup de grace.

The villain, in a desperate attempt to disengage used his quirk… rather, I was beginning to suspect he had multiple and used a different one to create a massive explosion that sent All Might flying into the sky and crashing into the side of a skyscraper nine city blocks west.

A small figure joined the fight. Black domino mask to cover the eyes, white bodysuit, golden gauntlets and greaves with a billowing golden cape. White hair, mottled skin and a slightly hunched back – the small hero was old…

The domino mask and emblazoned belt around his waist added a bronze-age aesthetic to him, if not for that I almost wouldn't have recognized him.

Gran Torino.

Without a word, the senior hero shot off like a bullet, steam coming out the soles of his boots, and crashed into the faceless man's uncovered throat legs first then back to the ground again before shooting off in a different direction towards the rubble which he used as a platform to ricochet back to the faceless man's uncovered belly as he once again crashed into him knee first.

"… you annoy me little boy…," The faceless man said as he tried and failed to swat the elderly hero, who continued to pester him with kicks from unsuspecting angles. Stalling for time and harassing.

"… I remember you," the elderly hero stilled, visibly flinching but unwavering in his assault, "-yes, the little sycophant who chased number eight's tail… Suga… no, Sora…Sorahiko. Yes, I remember you Sorahiko."

The old man remained unaffected and continued his assault with increased fervor.

"How devastated you must have been when I felled her," Gran Torino stopped and stared at the faceless man, his face a rictus of anger and shock, "shall I regale you with her last words shared to me as I snuffed out her embers."

Gran Torino offered no reply. He crouched low to the ground, palms flat against the earth and back jutting upwards in a runner's start.

**[STORMVOGEL]** he hissed and disappeared.

I heard more than I saw cracks of metal boot against enhanced flesh, the whistling of air left in the man's passing and the faceless man's grunting as he was assaulted by Gran Torino, who must have been going faster than All Might at his best.

Even in old age, he was still one of the fastest – I watched with awe.

"She had many-," the faceless man spoke with a conversational tone, ignoring the barrage all the while.

"-regrets do you kn-," his head whipped back from the force of Gran Torino's [Mach Speed Dropkick].

"-ow. Her loveless marriage in shamb-," a foot against his throat again cutting him short, "-les. Her ideals waning… as it would turn out, she was not the parag-," he stopped midsentence, dropping a hand to his down to intercept an attempted crotch-kick. The only effort he'd put into his fight with the old man, if it could even be called a fight.

"-paragon you thought her to be. Her husband left, took the children with him. He turned out to be an abusive father without the stabilizing presence of Nana."

Gran Torino disengaged and jumped back a distance away to catch his breath.

"She spoke of you do you know. She was of course delirious at the time, but death's door has a way to reveal hidden truths."

"I've heard of your silver tongue. I'd be stupid to listen to anything you say, so be quiet and take your beating like a good villain. I don't want to hear it All for One," the elderly hero said, defiantly.

"… I'll say it anyway. She wondered to herself what life might have been like had she chosen you. Isn't that great little boy – a little growing on your part and you might have had a future together."

"… wha-," shocked, the old man exclaimed, although cut short before he could make out the word by a red and black tendril latching around his neck. The camera paned, following the black and red tendril to its source to the faceless man's fingers which were partially made of flesh and other part whatever exotic material the tendril was made of.

"I dare say – life might have been easier for all involved. She neglected her flame to make time for a thankless job and found comfort in you… a trusted friend and confidante, wishing for more all the while. You're a good man Sorahiko, and I imagine you the attentive sort… nothing like the push-over chaff she foisted her children to," the faceless man taunted, twitching his fingers slightly as he tightened the grip he had around Gran Torino's neck, "You might have been a better husband."

"Possibilities, Possibilities. What was can't be changed, so… no point dwelling, no. Not that I would change it if I could mind you… It all worked out for me quite well. Her distant nature is what led to my fateful meeting with Shigaraki Tomura… her grandson and the heir to my empire."

Through the strangles struggling and choked breathing, Gran Torino somehow managed to convey shock in his expression.

The faceless man seemed to stumble. He paused and coughed into his free hand before spitting blood to the floor.

"hmm – It appears my time is short. Any last words Sorahiko," he received no answer save for choked expletives and rude gestures, "very well. Pass my greetings to my little brother and Nana in the after life when you get there."

"**Oh Fuck**," the camera man cursed, "**oh shit. We have to cut… this is live**."

"**No**," the reporter refuted, "**keep shooting… no matter what happens, keep shooting."**

**[AU REVOIR]**

The red and black tendril pulsed and squirmed as it squeezed harder against the old man's neck, finally, with a jerky motion the man stopped moving and fell to the ground as the tendril retracted back to the faceless man's fingers.

**"… a man just…,"** breathless, the cameraman whispered.

"**Keep quiet, Keep shooting**."

"…"

'D-did he just kill him?' I thought. I contemplated rewinding a few seconds back to be sure, but decided against it when something landed into the frame with a thunderous crash.

All Might was back.

He looked down beneath, to his feet where Gran Torino laid prone.

"S-sensei," his voice was low, but high enough to be heard through camera. He fell to a knee beside the elderly man, a finger pressed against the neck all the while.

"Sensei… oi sensei, wake up."

"They'll be none of that, I made sure of it. His C2 vertebrae has been fractured – a textbook perfect hangman's fracture If I do say so myself, and the C3 has been completely dislocated from the entire column, severing the spinal cord as a result," the faceless man supplied unapologetically, "If it's any consolation, death was instant. He felt no pain in his passing."

"…"

All Might stood up, his form spewing out smoke as he gradually, and quite visibly lost muscle with each second that passed. His arm on the other hand, figuratively, seemed to suck in all the lost mass from the rest of his body and grew larger and larger until it was as wide as his now thin torso.

He looked almost… desiccated in a way, skeletal eve with gaunt cheeks, sunken eyes, vibrant blue eyes, prominent teeth sticking out and a shock of graying blonde hair.

"No more… No more All for One," All Might declared as he cocked his grotesque arm back in a windup. "By my hand, I swear….this ends now - your empire, your legacy."

"Oh… no longer holding back are we. How reckless…," the faceless man mirthlessly chuckled, "… in which case, allow me to reciprocate."

The faceless man lifted his right arm and pointed it to the sky. The arm bulged and gained mass, growing to an equally grotesque size as All Might.

Wisps of red lightning danced and arced down the length of his arm as barbed metal bits poked out from underneath, bursting through flesh with spurts of black blood.

His nails turned to a black slurry sludge that hardened and became like chitin, his skin blackened and took a shimmering metallic shine, and the bones underneath snapped and jutted out in placements along his arms like vents.

Lines of black and gold formed along the surface of his now metallic skin, like circuitry as the faceless man cocked his hand back to mirror the back-standing feet away from him.

**[UNITED STATES OF SMASH]**

**[ALL FOR ONE]**

The news chopper maneuvered to a better vantage point, somewhere much lower and slowed to a hover above a single story building as it neared the scene for a better shot.

Too fast for the camera to catch, villain and hero clashed. Wind picked up and the force of their blows threw rubble every which way.

Like samurai of old the two stood before each other. Grotesque, oversized hands outstretched.

The fight was over. I knew and understood this, but I didn't rejoice – the outcome had yet to be determined, so I watched with bated breath, and offered a silent prayer.

'I have a bad feeling about this,' I resisted the urge to close down the video.

The first to fall was the villain. The faceless man punch had been off mark when he struck All Might and had completely missed, either that or the hero had evaded and countered.

"N-not a… pun-punch b-but a s-spear hand thrust. H-ow u-n-heroic. Y-yo-u a-ren't quite th-the blu-unt tool I t-thought you…," the villain gurgled the words out and coughed a wad of blood, the racking fit sounding more like laughter as he hacked and wheezed. He fell into a fit of raspy coughing, convulsing with each one before finally letting out one final one and fell silent, limp against All Might's shoulder.

The hero pushed the faceless man's prone form off him, who slipped off his arm wetly as the hero's arm was pulled back from his chest where it had quite literally perforated through.

The camera moved away from the villain, so to not show the sight of the hole in his chest and focused on All Might who looked up and stared straight into the camera and raised his bloodied hand to the sky, pointing.

He was covered in blood from head to toe, his form even more desiccated than it was before with a massive gaping wound in his chest… a pre-existing wound that had burst open during the melee, exposing his lower ribs on the left side and letting a veritable fountain of blood leak.

I could not, at the top of my head, think of any quirk that could heal that. He was already dead, his body have long since fallen apart. His mind just hadn't caught up yet.

"You're… next," he announced, the words a whisper on his lips before he fell to his knees.

The camera paned back to the news chopper, where a disheveled reporter stood, rested against the door, mic in hand and a shocked expression on her face.

**"… my god. All Might… All Might is…"**

**-/- -/- -/- -/ - -/- -/- **

The lecture room lights flashed on as the projector was turned off. Some words were spoken, a joke by the professor followed by some courtesy laughter from the front-seaters.

I paid all of it no mind.

"…Izumi-san…"

The screen turned blurry, and my shoulders shook.

"…Izumi-san…"

Fat tears rolled down my cheeks and a heavy lump formed in my throat. I choked back a sob and… I had to get out of here.

I needed air, and time to process this. Oh god, Melissa… I had to make sure she didn't see this.

"…Izumi-san," the professor, a short balding man in flannel called out my name. Had been for a while now I realized.

He was giving me that look he gives his students when he catches them distracted in lectures, a mix of disappointment and sadness.

"Care to share with the rest of the class what you were watching that you found more interesting than Lindhart's study on Exotic Energies," he said, hand resting by his hip.

"…"

"Well, we're waiting."

"All Might…," I started, the lump in my throat grew heavier as I tried to articulate my thoughts.

"…well."

"He… he's dead."


	2. Only Man 1-2

**Shouto (焦 - burn, 凍 - freeze) = Yakedo (火傷 - to scald, liquid burn)**

**Project Alexandria**

Todoroki Yakedo slipped into a corner that led to an empty hallway where a broom closet had been set aside for the cleaners.

The closet was locked tight but thankfully she'd had the mind to carry a master-key for most physical doors when she broke in, a support item she'd pilfered from her father's lackeys. The small room was crammed full of brooms, buckets and god knows what the hell kind of chemical that smell was - none of which was ever going to see much use, not when the facility had no janitorial staff to speak off, instead it had automated cleaning servitors installed into its very walls.

Her breath came out ragged and short from all the running, evading and climbing she'd been doing the past hour and a half, no doubt made worse by the chemical fumes she was inhaling.

She leaned into the door, putting her weight near the frame to act as a blockade and to get closer to the keyhole so she could hear beyond the thick wooden frame. Through the keyhole, she made out the sound of footsteps – heavy and metallic thuds, like metal-sole boots crashing against the concrete tiling with each step.

It was the guard she had almost run into mere seconds ago, as he made his rounds around the restricted area.

She listened as the footfalls became echoes from afar, counted to ten, and then made her way out when she couldn't hear the sound of walking anymore.

The next guard was due in two minutes to pass by, followed by another one in five – it was a system devised to ensure that there was almost always someone nearby the entrance to Door Eleven.

Emphasis on 'almost-always' because it made breaking in easier.

There was a single minute window once every thirty minutes, during which no guard was in sight of the entrance as they all had to stop and check in with the overseer to ensure they're all accounted for and no-one tried to steal the precious research.

That single minute window was open to her now and it was all she needed to enter the code and gain entrance.

Though long and rather secure, the password said a lot about the kind of man Endeavour was – her father, unfortunately.

_333244777336644334448451_

… Or Fahrenheit 451 were you to enter it into a twelve-pin keyboard.

A lot of his passwords were fire related … a lot of his 'things' were, now that she thought about it. She was after all, one of his tools. Named Yakedo – to scald.

She scoffed as the pad lit green and heard the magnetic latch pins release with continuous pop-pop-pops. She pushed the heavy door aside for entrance and closed it on her way out to ensure none of the guards become suspicious.

This door led to what was perhaps the world's most comprehensive Quirk-DNA library – containing close to ninety-eight million samples, harvested from heroes, civilians and villains alike, all across the globe. With each sample kept inside inch-long stasis phials that were stored in shelves, categorized by name and ranked systematically by effective destructive power or utility.

It was her father's greatest achievement – the tools to realize his great ambition, his legacy.

She was here to destroy that – but not before she appropriated his crème de la crème. A yet unnamed but incredibly powerful synthetic quirk that he was rather proud of and kept safe under extremely heavy lock and key in a vault at the back of his 'library'.

The library as expected was massive – it took her a whopping five minutes of light jogging to make it all the way to the back of the library where a large, and thick titanium-carbide door stood imposingly in-between two shelves.

There was no panel in sight to input a password, but she knew how to open it regardless. She had done her homework after all.

The vault door required a special password, a unique password that could only be inputted by his unique control of flame.

Well … not so unique, not truly. Not when she possessed the same Quirk as him… well, on one side at least. She hated using it, but for this… she made an exception. Ice was still her default and preferred side to use.

Yakedo stepped in front of the metal-door and stood atop a section of tiling where a pressure plate was discreetly buried beneath. There was a faint 'ping' noise from above where an infrared camera lit up … the password input method.

Endeavor prided himself in having absolute control of his flames to the point he had devised this security system thinking he was the only one who could enter.

The infrared camera started recording, looking for very specific heat signatures.

She called upon the fiery half of her Quirk to her chin, upper-lip and chest in dilating, palpitating flashes of blue and white, careful not to ignite her hair instead as opposed to emulating facial hair that she simply didn't have.

Morse-Code.

The password was the man's birthdate in morse-code, entered only through white flame heat signatures(dots) and blue flame(dashes) from his chin (flame-stach – she cringed a little at using that terminology) and insignia.

It was childish as hell but, damn it all if it wasn't unique.

The infrared camera blinked red thrice, and the 'ping' noise resounded again as it retracted.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she quelled the flames to nothing, leaving her with a slight burnt jacket – these were made to withstand blue-flame easily but usually took damage upon even the slightest exposure to white flame as it was the hottest flame possible.

It was with a small bit of vindictive pride that she admitted to herself that white-flames came to her much easier and without remuneration like they did to her father.

The vault unsealed with a hiss as air rushed in to fill the vacuum of what she assumed to have been an air-tight room. The inside was bare, with five white walls, a four-light runway on the ground and two canisters atop pedestals in the centre of the room held in display like precious art-pieces.

She hadnt been exoecting two. There should only have been one.

No matter. She approached the pedestal with care.

The first cannister was decorated with gold and black and was marked with a tag that read – Log-Ex, short for Logical Extreme.

It was why she was here, this… this thing, the reason her mothers, sisters and brothers had to suffer the abuse of that man.

The artificial quirk, Logical Extreme, was the culmination of twenty years of research, experimentation, bribery, and war crimes the likes of which made Old Korea's Power Farms look tame – the man was nothing if not connected to high places and not always on the light side too.

She wanted nothing more than to destroy it, but she thought one better – she would use it to undo his legacy, how she went about doing that… she wasn't sure yet, but she had a feeling the opportunity would present itself soon.

The cannister was set on a pressure plate that triggered a silent alarm that went off if the contents or part of it were removed from the pedestal for too long, but it was easy to bypass – all she had to do was Indiana Jones it with another cannister that she'd nicked on her way in from a random shelf.

The second cannister was unexpected – she'd always known the vault to contain his most precious sample, singular, not samples, plural.

She eyed the cannister, looking through the glass chamber past the blue coolant liquid which kept the sample within fresh. Contained within were two strands of hair – red on one side and white on the other like hers, both twirling around each other in a double helix.

She read the label and doubled back at the sight.

It read –

Cold Fire

User_Todoroki-Homura: Deceased

… Homura, meaning a blaze.

She recognised the name of the Quirk, and the name brought with its memories long since repressed. Memories of a child forced to carry the weight of the world, the tragic sole scion driven to suicide by his own father.

She hadn't known him for long, but what little time she spent with him, comforting him in her lap after their mother had beaten him black and blue simply because he looked like their father even after suffering a scalding teapot to the face by the same woman, or cleaning his wounds after 'combat training' with their 'father'.

She had come to truly love him not unlike one would a sibling but as a mother would a child… a love their mother couldn't provide.

Homura, kami bless him, had just given up and walked into the busy streets of Tokyo one day and gone the next moment.

He died defying their father, denying the man of his so-called Legacy. He was the sole reason she was breaking into the man's research lab, stealing and destroying his life's work in the process.

Cold Fire was one of the most powerful hybrid Quirks in recent memory, and most stable not counting her own Half-Cold-Half-Hot, achieved through selective breeding and Quirk marriage, a feat that was accomplished only after the death of three others who simple couldn't handle the conflicting sides.

She couldn't destroy it, she couldn't bring herself to do it… but she could take it off the man's hands.

She knew exactly why he kept it locked up like this, she knew what he planned to do with it as well and she was accessory and part of that plan.

The thought sickened her.

That was all she was to the man, that was all they were to him – tools, breeding stock and toys to use and discard when they no longer serve a purpose.

With more force than was necessary, though still cautiously, she swapped the cannister with another empty one and marched her way out the vault.

Seeing what remained of her brother had steeled her resolve further and she no longer held reservations against doing what she was about to do.

With renewed resolve Yakedo fished out a phone, an old model that was close to more than a century out of date but appropriate for her purpose. The thing was clunky, with tiny buttons that felt as though they required a strengthening quirk to push even a single one down, but she managed to call on the only number stored within.

A number that was connected to another similar model phone she had rigged to the facility's generators to short-circuit the Library's power source for a fraction of a second, brief enough to go unnoticed for weeks but long enough to disable the stasis keeping the coolant cold and the samples fresh.

The short-out would also affect the library's computers by frying the hard drives and wiping away thirty years of research in seconds. The reboot would corrupt the local files and trigger a trojan virus she had installed earlier that would affect the whole network, deleting the cloud files, backup files, and backups for the backups, across all facilities within Japan and offshore(such was the disadvantages and the advantages of keeping all your eggs in one basket, they were easier to protect that way but they were more vulnerable too) most of which she had kept copies of.

Aside from the guards outside, seldom anyone ever visited the library or the facility itself – it would be months before anyone notices anything off, that is unless the guards removed their helmets and took a good long whiff of over a million DNA samples going off; which they weren't allowed to, out of fear of contaminating the samples. Some would be usable in spite of condition, but she had accounted for that by mixing in a little bit of lysing acid in the coolant reserves which was currently leaking in and breaking down the samples ever so slowly.

Her exit was much simpler than her entrance, because of the sheer size of the facility it was necessary for elevators to be installed, and within the library alone were three such elevators. Two of them were more escalators than they were elevators and were mainly used for traversing between sections and floors on small scale.

The other one, the third one was a quick exit elevator that led straight to the helipad and was designed to be used in case of a break-in, where upon someone would escape with all relevant data unnoticed.

… unnoticed.

The evacuation tunnel wasn't the shortest route of escape she could have used but it was the one that was, without a doubt, the most unnoticeable one. It was out of the way and cut through the city sewerage pipes, winding to and fro into the most obscure parts of Tokyo, leading all the way to an abandoned section of public housing.

When she came to, she panicked a little – it was already night time, but the sky was alit with life and the air was buzzing with the noise of distant police sirens from halfway across the city and a news helicopter was making rounds in the business district. For a moment she thought the police were after her, but she dismissed that thought and quelled that bout of paranoia, it was post-heist jitters making her think that way.

A police car blared past, the blue and red lights peeking through the moth-ridden curtains of the abandoned house she'd ducked into as it passed.

There was a 'beep-ping' noise from her mobile, an ultra-thin Midas G6 with more secrets than the POTUS and the Russian President put together.

A scan of her fingerprints, an iris scan followed by a nine-letter password-pin later and the home screen popped into view seamlessly, 'faster than the speed of thought' as the adverts go. Displayed upon her news feed was a video that was trending.

She took a seat on the ruined couch and curiously opened the news tab where a myriad of videos were listed, all of them trending, most of them redacted but what few were available to view had an increasing number of views going up exponentially by the second – she was sure it was no coincidence that the video was trending at the same time the floodlights lit up the metropolitan area and the police rush.

She rolled down the status bar, and clicked on the first link.

**Breaking News …-uploaded two minutes ago(101,670K views)**

**King Nitro public apology… stream now(83,000K views)**


	3. Only Man 1-3

**I-ISLAND STUDENT COMMON AREA**

I raced down the halls of I-Island Academy, having quite literally run out of the class mid-lecture and pushed past the other students who were milling about. In my rush, I bumped into every person I ran into.

The whole while, I was a streak of green curls and profuse apologies.

Turning a corner, I almost crashed into someone, a near miss that startled them into dropping their diorama in hand to the floor where it sprawled uselessly… scuffed up but intact thankfully.

The person - my victim, was a girl with light brown skin that was peppered with glowing freckles, with black and gold frizzly hair, wearing work googles and overly tight-fitting overalls, who looked to me with despair in her eyes as she inspected the near-ruin of her diorama.

She was, maybe… about a year below me, and looked to be on her way to do her presentation for a final exam by the looks of it – the diorama and written essay were telling enough. And I was proven right when I saw her ID card, pinned to the left strap of her overall. She was a second-year student, studying Exotic Biology as I found from the glimpse I got of her written essay.

I spared her a moment, and fell to my knees, picked up the roll of Bristol-board which I flattened out before handing it back to her.

She had taken to collecting the essay paper meanwhile.

"…you alright?" she asked, accepting the roll of paper I returned to her, after fitting the papers sprawled aground back into their plastic sleeve.

"… I-I'm so s-sorry," I apologized, and took off the moment she received her papers.

"W-wha, hey… get back he-," her voice faded in the distance as I rounded a corner and headed straight for the campus bus which was just leaving.

I picked up speed and jumped at the last moment, slipping past the doors and landing within bodily.

The bus was empty, and all of its seats were unoccupied except for the front, which had a glass covered booth in place of steering apparatus and a driver's seat – there wasn't need for it. Inside the booth, controlling the steering and generally manning the vehicle, was a servitor – humanoid with gangly limbs, ball jointed, and a cylindrical head with a conductor's cap placed atop.

The design, apparently, had a twenty-first century aesthetic to it.

"Student Labs… please," I said to the servitor, and scanned my card by the terminal at the front.

"Of course, Student… [Midoriya]," the servitor replied in their choppy English, butchering my name as always, "please… take a seat – next stop: Student Labs, estimated time of arrival is… [three minutes and fourteen seconds]."

I took a seat closest to the entrance and looked outside as the bus took off. The vehicle rose a meter above ground, the Meissner-Effect taking hold as the superconductive underside of the vehicle was repelled by the quirk-metal foundation of the Island.

Outside, on campus, as the bus passed by, I saw groups of students huddling together on their phones. Some sat on benches with their laptops set up, others used smart-projectors and some, few, looked to the campus electronic boards. All of them, no doubt, were just no receiving the news.

I looked down to my own phone in hand, which had pinged, and shuffled through my news feed, which was blowing up with article after article, all of them saying the same thing.

**Breaking News, All Might offic…-uploaded two minutes ago(101,671K views)**

… so many views in such a short time. I hadn't even been five minutes since I left class, much less four since that live broadcast. I could only hope Melissa hadn't seen it yet… or perhaps it would be better if she did… I didn't know.

The heavy thought lingered in my mind and I cast my eyes forwards, just in time to see the bus approach building 33F, the research of Quirk Studies and Exotic Biology building – my second major. Behind it was the student dormitory, the second last stop before the Student Labs.

The bus stopped outside the student dormitory to pick up a student but made good time for the labs and we arrived in seconds.

The moment the bus arrived and made a stop, I stood up, so fast I might have suffered vertigo, and jumped out the bus. I ignored the servitor's farewell, some pre-programmed line that I didn't care enough to listen to and made for a beeline towards my lab… rather, our lab. It was a shared workspace I co-owned with Melissa – it was something most third years would balk at. The whole point of the lab-spaces was to give students a chance to be independent, the prospect of sharing ran counter to that for most.

I disagreed with that sentiment for a few reasons. It was a lot more advantageous than what most would assume.

To start, I got to collaborate with a like mind, who was also the premier mechanical genius on the island… among the youths that is. It didn't hurt that her father, the world premier in Support Gear visited every now and then to share his input on some projects.

The second reason was size. The standard labs were the size of a classroom – enough space for storage, a work-bench and a rest area for a single student. Shared labs were much larger, ranging from the size of a small house to an entire hangar depending on project focus and group-size. There was only two of us in our lab and our specialties, different as they were, only required a relatively small workspace so we had what equated to a small house.

… It definitely had nothing to do with my crush on the girl. Not at all.

I passed by an open hangar where eight students, two boy and six girls – the girls were in truth just one student with a duplicating quirk. Both students were busying themselves on a large humanoid mecha, the boys manned the computers while the girl, plus duplicates scaled the giant. Half of her were welding something into place and the other half were removing something.

Their creation was an interesting exercise in using experimental technology – a requirement for master's students. It had no metal shell like most robotic projects I'd seen, instead it had an exo-skeleton wrapped around the body, made entirely out of faux-muscles – strings of bio-metal woven together to imitate musculature that were pulled taut to emulate the contracting motions of muscles by an actuator box in the spine.

I usually took to remembering our neighbor's projects... part of being a good neighbor I often defended myself when accused of obsession.

…in favor of making time, I pushed all observation to the back of my mind. This was no time for it.

As I ran, I made to wipe away at my face and eyes. Drying away tear streaks and wiping the snot away with a pocket square in hopes of looking somewhat presentable.

The door to our lab loomed a few steps away, and when I got there I had to stop outside by the door and take a breather. I exercised frequently, almost religiously so I wasn't unfit by any definition despite genetics blessing me with my mother's predisposition for a full-figure, wide-hips and chest, but my focus will always be toning and aesthetic not endurance or strength so all that running had winded me.

When I got my second wind I looked up to the top of the door, where three lights were positioned in a row. The first was green, the second orange and the third was red.

The third light was on and I felt my shoulders drop in both relief and apprehension.

Red meant occupied.

I tapped my student at the door terminal and the first light, green, flashed on as the door opened with a hiss.

I walked in to an occupied, but silent lab. Melissa, whenever she was in our lab, is always working on something. Always hammering away at her armors, messing with my projects or tinkering with her smaller creations.

I passed the storage with careful steps, and into the kitchen area which was vacant.

"…uhuhu…"

The lump in my throat returned when I heard that noise coming from the lounge-area.

That lump dropped to my stomach when I saw her leaning against the wall, shakily standing in place, weakly holding her mobile in her left. The other hand was cupped to her mouth, fat drops of tears were forming and falling down her cheeks liberally. Her eyes were ringed with red, her face blotchy and nose red. Tiny noises like hiccupping escaped from her covered lips as she cried.

…

She must have heard me come in and looked up. Our eyes met, and she fell to her knees as I rushed to catch her. Her phone cluttered uselessly to the ground, the screen still intact and on display was the cause of her distress.

It was an article, the same one I'd seen on the way.

**Breaking News, All Might officially Announced Dead…-uploaded two minutes ago(101,671K views) [now watching]**

**Mysterious Villain fells the Symbol of P…-uploaded two minutes ago(100,034Kviews) [watch next]**

"… I-Izumi," she said with a sniffle, "… he-he's… Uncle Might…"

She couldn't speak anymore in-between sobbing, her words choppy and incomplete.

"… I know," I said to her softly.

I held her close to me tightly and pulled her head into my chest, nesting her head in between my breasts for what comfort they could provide, as I sunk to the floor with her. I didn't think it would help much, but it always did for me when I was young, and mom did it. Maybe it was the comfort of hearing the beating heart of another so closely, or perhaps it was the softness of a bosom reminding us all of simpler times – regardless, I held her in my arms and whispered to her words of comfort… or tried to.

I avoided looking at her face. I hated it when she cried, because when she did, I would too.

"… I-I'm s-so sorry Melissa. I came here as fast as I could as soon as I got the news," I whispered to her.

"…," she didn't say anything in response, just tightened her hold on me with her hands to my back. I pulled in closer and shifted the both of us into more comfortable positions as she continued to cry into my shoulders.

"I don't… I don't know what I can say to make you feel better," I really didn't.

I'd known the news of All Might's fight and his passing would devastate her – it certainly was going to affect the world adversely, it was why I'd dropped everything and rushed to her to do the only thing I could do… to just be here for her.

The hero had been like… not like, was family to her. In all the years I'd been studying with her, been friends with her I'd only ever met the hero twice – even then, it was only in passing, but I could see with a glance how close he was to the Shield family.

Melissa had been his god-child, and he'd loved her as one would their own daughter. Professor David was… I wasn't sure of the nature of their relationship, but I did remember Melissa teasing her father about how strangely intimate the two men were, In her words the two were closer than lovers but weren't.

The Professor was no stranger to loss, he'd mourn and with time I was sure he'd heal. His daughter on the other hand, she…

Melissa shook in my arms, then looked up to me with swollen and red eyes and said with a small, shaky voice that was almost too low to hear, "d-don't leave… please."

I choked back my own tears.

"I won't. I'm right here and I-I'm not going anywhere."

…she needed a shoulder to lean on.


	4. Only Man 1-4

**(****から****)****from**: [dr_roland-egbert- at -academy-iisland-net]

**(****受け****)received**: [today at 6:07 PM]

**(****件名****)subject**: (Enrolment and Attendance)

[As requested, I have sent to your inbox, next week's unit plan, slideshow files and all relevant coursework to be completed by the 14th.]

[For future reference, please commune with the Student Admissions office in regards to such matters. The academy, much like other institutes world-wide, has a policy of granting class-free periods to students in times of mourning. While that only applies to immediate family members of the deceased, of which you are not – exceptions can be made for the significant others of said family.]

[link: Student (pg45 - Enrolment and Attendance)]

[I shall, consider yours and your partner's emotional distress in this trying time and endeavor to give you much needed time to mourn. A week off from your classes is the most I can reasonably give Ms Shield and yourself, and you will be required to hand in all tutorial-work as well as completing any online quizzes by the week's end.]

[If you can, pass my condolences to Ms Shield and her Father]

[Signed: Dr Egbert]

* * *

**から**: [midoriya-izumi- at -academy-iisland-net]

**受け**: [today at 6:10PM]

**件名**: (Thank You)

[Thank you for your understanding Doctor.]

[Professor David thanks you for your kind words and sympathy. He also asked me to pass on an invitation to you for next week's memorial gala.]

[Have a good night.]

[Signed: 緑谷出泉]

* * *

It wasn't easy, but I managed it somehow.

The days that followed All Might's death were… difficult for everyone.

Two nations had mourned, and still are to this day. The stock market took a nose dive, rather unpredictably… and on the day he was officially announced dead – two days after the video, people across the globe stood vigil in town squares and centers in mourning, Lighting candles and singing songs of passing.

Others, those whose lives had been most impacted by him, had been affected more than others.

For almost the entire week, Melissa was inconsolable.

For that whole week I'd taken to camping in Melissa's room, just holding her and talking to her about whatever came to mind as she cried, screamed herself hoarse and threw epic tantrums in rage. Some of that anger had been directed at me, and some at her father - words were said, things were thrown, and I took it all in stride.

I had to be strong.

For her.

So it was, when Professor David, who'd spent the whole week arranging the funeral, invited me to attend as a friend to the family.

Funerals were such somber affairs, and I didn't want to go… but I accepted.

'For her,' the words repeated in my mind like a chant.

The procession was a small and humble affair anyway. I was assured by the Professor that It won't take too long, nor would be it too short either.

"… he wouldn't have wanted us to mope about like this…," has been Professor David's response when I asked why he'd made such an arrangement.

The venue was to be a small estate, somewhere in LA - it had belonged to All Might back when he debuted in America during his world-tour, I found out.

As All Might himself had intended, the only people present had been close friends and family – no more than twenty to my surprise, and among them had been a handful of some of the most influential names in the global stage.

"LORD, thou has been our refuge : from one generation to another."

"…before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made : thou art God from eve"

The priest reciting the book of common prayers was one such figure.

Clement Powell, a well-built man with eyes that glowed gold, wearing purple robes tied to his waist by a white sash with and he was the Archbishop of some place in England called Canterbury.

Another was the mountainous African-American man in mostly black, his eyes, the inside of his mouth and palms glowing blue with contained energy – Champion, previously second but now world number one hero. Beside him was his son, Challenger in black threads with golden greaves – same as his father, his eyes and palms glowed blue.

I found myself seated at the front, Professor David to the far left and Melissa to my immediate left – dressed in all black with a bouquet of white roses in my lap and my hand holding Melissa's for comfort.

By now most of her tears had dried, and she seemed to be functioning on auto-pilot… moving from place to place in a daze, just going through the motions of life, numb to it all. It broke my heart to see her like that, and not knowing how to make her feel better pained me more. I held to hope that she'd be better soon… I'd make sure of that.

The priest continued with his recitations, made us all stand for a prayer and during it all I couldn't help but notice that no one else was seated with us at the front… the front, which was traditionally for immediate family.

Something that I hadn't really been paying attention to became immediately apparent. I looked around, to all the familiar and unfamiliar faces around me and 'it' stuck out now that I was looking for it.

All Might had no family.

Melissa had been his god-child and Professor David was… I wasn't sure of the nature of their relationship but from what I'd pierced from Melissa's rambling, the two had been closer than lovers but weren't.

They were like family but weren't related to the man by blood.

I snuck a glance behind me, to the second row that had been reserved for his closest friends. A contingency that consisted of his former side-kick – Night-Eye, a dog-headed man - the police chief of Tokyo, a plain-looking gentleman wearing a trench coat and fedora - a detective of some sort, and two of the teachers he'd been working with at U.A for the last six months, pro-heroes Eraserhead and President Mic.

They had been friends of his, but none of them were family.

The stocky, baby-faced blonde next to Night-Eye might have passed for his son, maybe – they both had blonde hair and were muscular but that's about the only thing they had in common.

The question plagued me.

Behind them, in the third row were mostly heroes from the west. All of them were big names in one circle or another, and each one carried a story with them that involved All Might in some way… a debut, a rescue or collaborations, whatever the moment, they'd shared some part of their lives with him.

Stories they all shared in eulogy.

Listening to them all speak made me feel… out of place and sorts.

I was honored to have been invited, truly and I'd professed as such to Professor David… but I didn't belong here. I was the only one present who didn't have one such story to share, without a connection to All Might that wasn't pure hero-worship.

I'd never once met All Might, only having seen him in passing when he visited the Island to see Melissa and her father. Even then, I'd stayed well away for most of the times - sometimes the nerves got to me and I'd find an excuse to refuse an invitation to meet him. My own social anxiety, my fears and timing conspired – there was always some reason or another why.

…I was the only one present who never knew him in person as they all did.

It's one thing to know of All Might's deeds by hearing of them second hand – I, of all people, should know as an avid collector of themed merchandise and professed fanatic.

It's another to see his influence and legacy unfold before my eyes, the lives he touched and changed, the heroes he inspired and those he saved.

The procession neared an end, and I soon found myself standing near the lone tree planted at the heart of the small estate. An apple tree that was in full-bloom, with mostly greenish-red fruit that hung low. At its foot was a cleanly dug, six-foot deep hole. A metal apparatus surrounded it - a lowering device, supporting the wooden casket as was being lowered into it.

Resting atop the casket were three fabrics, neatly arranged one after the other in a column.

The Japanese flag laid at the top, folded in such a way that put the rising sun in full display – the symbol of his home country, where he was born and where he learned to do everything he was known for.

The American flag rested just underneath the Japanese one, all its stars on display to show where his legend began, here in L.A where he was being buried.

By the foot of the casket was the last item – another fabric, different from the other two in that it's not a flag but a full-body suit instead. Not just any suit either, All Might's first costume - mostly red with white lines and blue highlights.

The symbolic importance of the uniform was lost on me, but I did know that Professor Shield designed and made it.

"… Earth to earth, ashes to ashes. From dust we came, and to dust we return…"

The somber affair reached its conclusion with a handful of soil that I poured into the grave, and when the gathered left with heartfelt words of comfort to Professor David and condolences to Melissa.

I hung back all the while - an outsider, yet, privy to it all.

I'd never felt more out of place.

When the time came for us to leave, I was more than glad.

Travel by private jet had long since become a novelty during my studying on I-Island, so I took my place next to Melissa in the back. Professor David took the front and busied himself with arranging a 'memorial gala', one that he'd also invited me to… as it was a more lighthearted affair, I accepted the invitation easily.

"... you okay?" I asked Melissa, after an hour spent in silence.

She startled from where she'd been staring out the window the whole time, looked up to me and flashed a strained, fragile smile, then answered, "… no. But I will be."

"…that's good…," I returned, awkwardly.

"… thanks…"

"… for…?"

"I know… that you probably felt out of place there, like you didn't belong. I just want you to know that you did belong there. You… you are family… like a… no, my sister in all but blood. So, thanks… thanks for being there."

'…sister.'

I gave a smile, shuffled over to her seat and drew her in for a hug. She leaned into me and hugged back, her arms around my neck and nose wet with tears pressed against my neck sending shivers down my spine.

For just that moment, all was well. Already, she was taking the first few steps toward the road to healing. I hoped the world was doing the same, but I had my doubts… I didn't like the things I was reading, the rise in crime and vigilantism was worrying.

"I promised I'd be there didn't I."

"Yeah… you did."

* * *

More build-up, setting up the plot and drama... and some butchered Japanese, probably.

* FFN won't allow you to publish works which use links, or the symbol for at... even if its for a fake website. Learn something new everyday.


	5. Only Man 1-5

Before the gala formally began, I made to check my phone for any interesting news.

I'd taken to doing that lately and hadn't seen reason to curb the growing habit.

I opened the news app and tapped the first article on display which began its broadcast. It was live so It took a while, but finally it started with an already ongoing report.

**"… happened five minutes ago at approximately Fourteen-hundred-hours-three-eight, Greenwich Mean Time, Tokyo. City Hall has just suffered assault from unknown terrorist sources and exploded in a blaze. Casualties remain unknown at the moment, but Police are preparing for the worst. We should be getting correspondence within the next few…"**

A commotion arose in the background of the video, followed by the sound of scuffling feet, the crinkling of paper and shouted whispers filtering through the live broadcast from the background as the anchors worked in a rush, while the teleprompters furiously and audibly typed away news as it happened.

The senseless violence being discussed made me a little uneasy, so I immediately dismissed the video and was promptly redirected to another.

**"… LeMillion debuts in San Francisco…"**

A new debut. I thought I recognized the name, but… I got nothing.

I drew a blank. His face was just unremarkable – the epitome of average, with an impressive but rather common physique, one shared by almost every power-type hero. It was nothing of interest anyway, just the usual hostage situation/bank robbery most debutees fight, so I dismissed the video and clicked next.

**"… World Number 12, Endeavor rises to number one in Japan…"**

Another Billboard Chart report.

Not even global too.

Next.

**"… fourth attempt at Tartarus since the Death of All Might has been foiled by the wardens, with the villains responsible fleeing in defeat. Assailants remain as yet unknown and unnamed, but security footage show a young man leading the assault covered in what appear to be human hands…"**

Another break in attempt.

Those usually happened at least once every six months. Almost always after months of meticulous planning from the villains, executed with a level of effort that you could see… not this, whoever it is, storming the place.

It looked to be simple anarchy.

Aimless and purposeless.

There was something different about this attempt, I thought.

Most attempts never made national news. Too low profile to waste a five-minute slot. I only know what I do because of Professor David who is sometimes commissioned to design some of the restraints.

Next.

** "…Nomu sighted at Tokyo City Hall. Suspected to be the cause of collapse. Hawks goes on the defensive…"**

I could almost see the peace of old slowly unravelling, making way for chaos and unrest. Each news report I read, was another corner of the world burning as villains ran rampant without restraint… mostly Japan and America.

Next.

**"… The mantle of Champion has once again changed hands. Spectacle at the Hero Billboard Chart Global yesterday when Challenger inherited the Champion Regalia…"**

The next article was very much of interest – it was as it always was when the mantle changed hands, history in the making and a source of drama for the media to milk for months to follow.

Before All Might, there was Champion the first and his suit of armor.

Champion was a hero from the second generation of quirked humanity, who possessed the peculiar ability to imbue objects with power to various anomalous effects. He could, given enough time to imbue enough power turn plastic swords into true blades sharp enough to cleave buildings in half, turn a dollar store costume into a suit of armor strong enough to block tank shots and survive planetary re-entry, as well as turn bargain bin sneakers into speed boosting shoes and so on and so forth.

It made him particularly formidable… invincible almost.

The quirk was hereditary – the world later found out, meaning that each generation could add their own power to the armor, making it just that much stronger - as such, the armor passed hands from father to son when Champion the first retired who added his own power, then again from son to daughter who did the same, daughter to daughter, daughter to son for several more generations.

Yesterday, the torch changed hands again, from father to son.

Breaking from tradition – the mantle didn't transfer from parent to first born. It went to Champion's fifth son instead.

Challenger was far from anyone's first choice – to start he was Champion's seventh child and fifth born son with his second wife - a full four years younger than Challenger and significantly less experienced to match. It had only been a year since his official debut, and he hadn't kept much of a media presence since then.

He was considered a C-Lister. From surfing the local news, ignoring the headline and reading every other page, I knew otherwise.

'That's going to turn some heads,' I thought.

**"…Triumph offered no insight to his father's choice, but Victor had this to say – …"**

I was shaken out of my thoughts by a well-manicured hand that slipped past my shoulders, reaching to the table before me and placing a small plate of finger foods.

I turned around and came face to face with the very visage of reluctant attendance, the face of Melissa looking down to me, fully dressed in her evening gown – fresh off the 3d printer. A single piece cloth of glimmering red and green highlights, with a yellow sash tied to her waist.

I'd chosen to go with a similarly cut dress to her own, except with an inverse coloration and without the thigh slit to the side. We matched, sort of… rather, our apparel complemented each other's – me in an emerald green hip hugging short dress and red highlights, with a yellow sash around my waist.

"…been surfing the net again?" She asked, "Anything interesting?"

"Well… you owe me lunch," was my reply as I dismissed the video hovering over the article, putting the written piece on display and gave her my phone.

She eyed me strangely and took it from my hand before skimming over the contents. Her face was a myriad of expressions as she scrolled the written section, shock when she watched the snippet video, and resignation when she saw my smirking, smug self looking up to her with a mouthful of tiny sushi.

"…Challenger is the new Champion – huh… who saw that coming?" she said after a while, then added, "how's Victor taking it?"

I considered the question. How does one 'take' not being given the one thing 'everyone', ever, has told you was your birthright… to one's own cousin no less.

"He had a meltdown on live TV, so…. not very well," I replied, thinking back to the interview that followed the announcement, which had seen to the unravelling of Challenger's sanity as he raved and ranted obscenities to the camera.

Melissa didn't deign to watch the interview that followed the article as I had and took my word, but she did laugh a little at the thumb nail of a red-faced Victor– a sentiment I shared with her.

She was doing that more and more a lot often.

She sat down, and we talked of recent events – some talk of All Might came up, she was uncomfortable but didn't shy away from the topic like she had the past week.

Minutes passed, and more guests filtered in. Seats were filled, but the lights had yet to dim – which was odd, considering that the keynote should have started thirty minutes ago, and should have been nearing its end right about now.

I chalked it up to a delay and didn't further on it. The event planner on the table flashed, indicating that it was soon to be time for the drinks and appetizers to be served so I took out my phone once more, logged in to the event page and placed an order for our table.

Melissa, in classic American fashion, ordered herself a platter of mini hotdogs for the starter, a hamburger steak meal for the main, mousse medley for dessert and a fizzy cocktail for the drink.

I chose the classic Japanese - Sashimi and sushi for starter, Wagyu meal for main, Daifuku for dessert and warm sake – Professor David wouldn't have minded, I think… I was only a year off from the legal drinking age of 21 in America, same as Melissa.

The event page had some trouble accepting the order but after a couple of repeats it went through.

From the corner of my eyes, I noticed something strange. It was a pair of security detail moving into place.

They had… guns.

Glowing guns?

Rifles mostly, sometimes pistols, gauntlets, and greaves as well as other weaponry for those with more exotic biology.

Some were unarmed. I imagined them to be those with combat-oriented quirks.

Most, if not almost all of them, were outfitted with face-covering helmets that had dim visors at the front, thickly padded vests on their chest that were lined with pockets containing tools that stuck out, like radio communicators(closed network communicators. I recognized the distinct design), throwing knives, keycards, spare ammunition and support gear.

Unmarked support gear.

"Hey…," I nudged Melissa's side, catching her attention and asked her in a whisper, "what's with the guards?"

She looked around, and noticed the guards milling about the exits, standing on the above head platforms and the backstage as well.

"Dad said the board wanted tighter security for the gala," she replied, "They even got some third years from U.A for extra credit, I think."

She pointed to one of the students – the one who stood out the most.

The student was standing next to one of the punch bowls near the stage, talking to a bird-headed young man and another, a blonde boy with a black streak in his hair that zigged like a lightning bolt. She was a curvy round-faced girl in pink skin-tights with the limb paddings from an Out of Orbit Environment suit – for all the thickness the suit added to her frame, it fit her well… quite nicely too.

She saw me looking and smiled and waved.

I waved back and looked around some more. Some of the gathered were looking rather disgruntled by the delay. Five minutes past the start time of the gala's proceedings and the lights hadn't even dimmed yet.

That alone was suspect.

"Where are the servitors?" I asked.

"I think the new hires replaced the servitors…" Melissa replied, unsure and just as confused as I was.

Her tone made it obvious that she questioned the truth in her own words as much as I did.

Something strange was afoot.

I didn't so much doubt that the security servitors had been replaced… not at all. It was just that… It looked as though **all** the servitors had been replaced.

What gave it away wasn't the missing waiting staff and the malfunctioning event page.

Servitors malfunctioned every now and then, and websites crashed just as frequently… which wasn't a lot on I-Island, but that was the case everywhere else. Neither of which were things most people would realize were issues, but then… most people hadn't worked on I-Island Network maintenance for their third-year placement.

The system was near perfect. Operating at close to 97.77% efficiency.

I knew that for a fact - I'd done some work on it and made some of my own additions, approved of course.

The security detail was the most suspicious.

I'd been peripherally aware that I-Island was hiring human security detail to account for the recent surge in crime. I'd even seen some of the new hires earlier in the week setting up post around campus, research facilities and the Island borders.

They'd all been wearing a standardized set of uniform, grey with white highlights made from enforced fabrics, and outfitted with non-lethal weaponry - I had been too busy with assignments and Melissa, but I remembered now.

I looked back to the event security detail and something clicked into place. Anxiety and Panic surfaced but I pushed them down.

These weren't the uniforms I saw earlier in the week.

Most damning, more than the unmarked all-black combat suits they wore, was the black-market support gear, they were outfitted with.

The guns particularly.

Beside me, I saw Melissa shooting a text to Professor David… rather, trying to.

"… Dad's not answering his phone," she said, her eyes narrowed, and lips pursed.

I tried to look for him in the mess of the gathered, remembering his table number and found his table to be mostly empty, save for a single unarmed guard holding something in his hands, a phone… Professor David's phone. I recognised the blue and red and yellow All-Might themed case almost instantly. I didn't need my glasses for that.

The screen flashed once… I saw the light blink against his visor once. A text received. Then again as the screen dimmed, to indicate the message was received.

I may have panicked a little.

"What did you send him," I asked Melissa, clambering over to her side to take a peek on her screen.

She locked her phone with a squeeze to the sides and shied away from me when she saw me approach with intent - a instinctive response to someone reaching for your phone I'd found. I snatched her phone away from her and ignored the indignant shout as I then unlocked it with my fingerprint.

I tapped the home button, opening her phone and batted away her wandering hands as I tapped the display to show the most recent messages.

**(now)to Dad: where r you? **

**(now)to Dad: zumi is fussing about you**

My worries were unfounded I found, but it didn't help to quiet the growing pit in my belly.

The rest were conversations between Melissa and I, ones we had about which dress to wear, mostly consisting of me complaining against a cut and Melissa strongly insisting otherwise.

I looked away from the phone, handing it back to Melissa who immediately checked to see what I was looking at, all the while my eyes were on the 'guard' standing at Professor's David's seat.

The man was looking around the venue hall, phone still in his hands with intent in his eyes. He was looking for someone. He was looking for us. Melissa, specifically, as she'd been the one to send the message.

He knew someone knew something was going on, and he notified his boss… the man behind this strangeness, on the radio.

"We need to go to the bathroom," I stood up, taking Melissa's hand in my own, pulling her up towards me forcefully.

She yelped and made to complain but stopped once she got a good look at me. Melissa has often told me that I could communicate a thousand words with just a single look… my face was apparently just that expressive.

She squeezed my hand in hers just a little tighter, and her expressed changed to match mine – a calm façade, worried underneath. She got the message.

Whether it was the right message or not, it didn't matter – we were on the same page.

I led her to the punch bowl, near the first exit which was barricaded by two of the guards inside, and about five outside and more in the distance close by. I looked closer to the stage, where the second exit was located and saw some researchers make for the door, obviously bored by the long intermission. They asked the guard some questions, questions that I was too far away to hear but I imagine they were asking about the delay and they looked to be angry at the lack of response from the guard.

I saw the guard twitch in place, lean into his shoulder strapped radio communicator as he whispered something into it, then as he took off his mask and helmet.

He turned to face the researchers. He didn't say anything, but the two nodded dumbly and meandered back to their seats where they proceeded to seat back down on their seats, stare off into the distance, relaxed, dazed… hypnotized, and then proceed to resume chatting like they hadn't just argued with the guard.

A Quirk.

Visual Based Hypnosis, I thought… but crossed it out. It didn't make sense. Hypnosis required a trigger, something to direct the order. There'd been none of that with the man's quirk. He'd just stared at the researchers and they'd almost instantly calmed down, returned to their seats without input from him and had forgotten their worries.

Not Hypnotism then.

The guard's quirk was Pacificism, I surmised.

'A rather situational quirk,' I thought, 'but a useful one. Clearly.'

There was a lot of dazed eyes in the hall.

Wide-scale Pacifism, I noted. It explained why no one had complained about the half-hour delay – everyone who had, had been pacified and sent back to their seats by that one guard.

Melissa had seen it too, and I felt her grip in my arm tighten with worry. I nudged her elbow, and assured her with a smile… rather, I hoped I did.

It worked.

She breathed a sigh of relief and waited patiently beside me as I reached into my purse for sticky notes. She hovered just over my shoulder as I jotted down a message, in Japanese, that I then slipped into the round-faced student's suit when we passed her by to the wash closet.

I spared the venue one look and realized that, somehow, we were trapped inside the hall with these people… mercenaries most likely, and no one seemed to have realized it.

Not even the heroes were privy.

First course of action was to notify the most immediate authorities – the heroes in this case, which I did… discreetly too, when I slipped the note into the girl's suit. She may have been a student, but she was a third-year student at U.A Japan, the world number one Hero Academia. She was pretty much at the level of a pro-sidekick… that, and I reasoned it would look less suspicious and more natural if a student approached a pro-hero as opposed to a random nobody walking halfway across the hall to speak with a hero.

Second course of action was to find safety.

There was one area in the venue that was unguarded from what I could tell, and that was the inside toilet. It was a cordoned area – separate from the whole but also a dead-end, and the only door that lead to its entrance was also the way back out.

There was no reason to stand guard nearby.

After all, it would rouse suspicion if they did, and if the Pacifism quirk worked the way I thought it did then that was the last thing they needed.

That worked out just well for me… us.

A guard eyed us curiously from a distance, tensing as his hands hovered over the shoulder radio.

The way he was looking our way made me question if our departure for the rest-room had been too abrupt. Should that have been the case, then one wrong move from us and he'd press the radio and notify his boss.

Thankfully, his gaze washed over us and settled back to the venue… namely, where the UA students were seated.

I noticed there were very few heroes. Significantly less than there should have been. The Japanese delegation for example was almost all missing – no Best Jeanist, Endeavour, or the UA teachers in sight. Mount Lady, Hawks and Kamui Woods were the only ones I could see that were in attendance.

"Where are the other heroes?"

I gave her a look and directed her to the unoccupied rest-room in an orderly fashion… dragging her along all the while and locked us into the farthest stall.

"Those guards are villains aren't they?" Melissa asked, giving voice to the one thing that had been on my mind the whole while.

"… yeah."

"Where's dad?"

"I don't know?" was my reply.

A lie.

Professor David had been there with us at the start, at the door, skulking about near the drinks table and talking to colleagues about this and that until he wasn't. He'd disappeared.. I hadn't seen it with my eyes, but my gut was screaming at me – that he, along with the other missing professors, had been taken by the man behind this… espionage.

"You're lying," she knew.

There were tears forming at the edge of her eyes, her voice cracking and a sob threatened to spill from her mouth.

I pulled her in for a hug… rather, I tried to, but she pushed me back, blocking my attempt at assurance.

She wiped away at her tears, and a fire lit up in her eyes. Determination, I thought but there was a harsh glow to it… a hint of something darker.

She took my hands in hers and pulled me in closer.

"We have to find him," she said.

"We will," I promised.

"I can't lose him too Izumi. He's all I have left."

"Don't worry, I won't let that happen," I assured her, pulling out my tablet from my purse, booting it up then pressed a function key before the screen could change to home.

Melissa leaned in for a peek, and gasped.

"Is that…a root kit?" she asked, scandalized.

There was no easy answer to her question. I tried to give one anyway.

"Remember when I took cyber-security?"

"…yeah. Only second year class we didn't share. What about it?"

"Remember that term assignment I said you couldn't help with?"

Melissa paused, remembering.

"… I'm not very good with soft work, you know that - but I do remember something about… you having to create a way around a sandbox defense… right?"

"I got extra credit for that."

"Yeah," she smiled, fondly reminiscing, "I remember that."

"…," she saw me type in commands onto the screen, - most of them macro-d, for convenience, as I inserted myself into the heavily compromised Island Network system.

Her smile fell when she started to remember the particulars, "Didn't dad give you a stern talking to after that."

"Yeah, that's the one where you tried to h… no… you didn't?"

"I succeeded actually…its why I got in trouble in the first place."

"You broke into I-Island cyber security"

I smiled, hopefully in a manner that was disarming. I was, maybe, committing a felony to foil another felony – a greater crime at that.

She glared at me but didn't chastise.

She leaned over and did what she could – which wasn't much. Her specialty was solely in the development and advancement of hardware, with a soft focus on software so all she did was look at seemingly random bits of code, none of which she understood.

I, on the other hand, ran a sweep of the network in limited function. Immediately, I noticed that someone had shut down the alarm system Island wide, then subsumed the servitor network. The servitors were, for the moment, all on standby, seemingly awaiting an update packet which I deduced to be a complete reprogramming from the perpetrator.

"Keep a look out."

Melissa nodded, and stood guard behind me.

"I'll get us a way out of here."


End file.
